


Alhasha

by ShannaraIsles



Series: Ena'Vun: The Dawn Will Come [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Mage Is Not Helpless Without Magic, Bets, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Sparring, Team Bonding, Varric Tethras' Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 08:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10486278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: In which Velen proves she is not the easy mark everyone thinks she is, and discovers that there is always something new to learn.





	

"What's going on here?"

  
Velen's voice caught the attention of only a few of the bodies crowded in front of her. She wasn't used to seeing most of Haven gathered around Cullen's training ground; even Adan, the grumpiest alchemist she had ever encountered, was there, passing coin to Varric where the dwarf was holding court at the forefront of the crowd. A space was made at his side for the Herald as she pushed through the crowd, finally able to see what had everyone's attention.

  
The Iron Bull was "training" with some of the senior warriors. Even Blackwall, their newly arrived Grey Warden, had joined the fray, showing off some impressive swordplay from behind his shield. All the fancy in the world couldn't get past Bull's sweeping defence, however. The great Qunari was a force of nature, even in a training exercise. He had absolute control over his massive war-axe - such control that even when his blows landed on the men and women attacking him, the worst injury they took was an abrasive jolt. No broken bones or severed limbs in a training exercise, after all.

  
"Fancy a bet, Fleetfoot?"

  
Velen looked down at Varric's grin, feeling herself smile at the nickname he was trying out on her this time. The dwarf had a nickname for everyone but, for some reason, he was struggling to find one that fitted her. He had already tried Red, Sparky, Skipper, and Fade, and now it seemed as though Fleetfoot would go the way of those. Judging by the look on his face, it just wasn't _right_.

  
"I'm in," Velen agreed amiably, digging into the pouch at her belt for the few precious coins that were hers alone. She considered the match in front of her, counting silver into Varric's outstretched hand. "Bull wins; Blackwall will be the last to fall, and he'll propose another match for Bull with someone else."

  
"Very specific." Varric chuckled, making a note of her bet. "Feeling confident, huh?"

  
She snorted in amusement.

  
"I've fought with both of them," she reminded him. "They both hate losing, and they both brag about kills."

  
"Beardy don't brag," a familiar voice interjected. "He gloats."

  
"Exactly," Velen agreed, making room for Sera at her side. "So he's not going to take losing to Bull very well."

  
That, and Blackwall had voiced his assumption that the Herald of Andraste would be human to her, within earshot of the Iron Bull. The Qunari would be itching to put him on his back, just to prove that humans did not have the monopoly on feats of skill and bravery.

  
A loud cheer from the crowd around them drew her attention back to the combatants as the crash of two bodies colliding marked a spectacular own goal by two of Cullen's best. In their haste to avoid the sweep of Bull's axe, Rylen and Brycen had crashed into each other, unable to disentangle themselves before the war axe returned to knock their feet out from under them. Both men landed in a painful tangle, yielding before Bull could bounce the flat of his axe-head off their fallen bodies in a parody of his favoured killing blow.

  
Sera nudged Velen as the Qunari wheeled to engage his remaining opponents - Blackwall, and a templar named Lysette.

  
"Betcha a kiss Lyssie knocks him back 'fore she goes down," the effervescent elf snickered.

  
"Who's the kiss for, me or her?" Velen countered in amusement. It hadn't taken long to discover which way the wind blew for this Red Jenny, but Velen didn't want to risk offending her new friend by rejecting her outright.

  
Sera cackled, the sound clearly audible over the crash of weapon and armour.

  
"You!" she declared without mercy, practically fizzing with delight at being able to tease the Herald she had accused of being both "elfy" and "glowing" in a single sentence at their first meeting.

  
Velen could feel herself blushing under not only Sera's, but Varric's, falsely innocent curiosity. It wasn't that she didn't like Sera; she just didn't _like_ her. She didn't like any women, not like that. Her mind raced to come up some way of extricating herself with some kind of dignity.

  
"Make it for her, and I'll throw in free drinks on a night of your choosing," she offered, hoping she wasn't offending the sometimes prickly elf.

  
Thankfully, Sera wasn't in the mood to push her luck, though it was safe to say that Velen was going to be teased about this for weeks to come.

  
"You're on."

  
"That's been witnessed, Buttercup," Varric pointed out. "Can't back out now."

  
"Psh, I never back out."

  
Perhaps the sight of the three of them grinning was a little distracting for the warriors in the ring. For whatever reason, Blackwall tripped over his own shield, conveniently missing Bull's swing as he stumbled to right himself. As the Qunari overbalanced, much to the hilarity of his Chargers, Lysette ducked in close with a well-timed shield bash that sent Bull stumbling forward. Sera cheered, dissolving into decidedly filthy giggles as Bull whipped around and knocked Lysette off her feet, pinning the templar beneath her own shield. To her credit, she laughed as she raised her hand to yield, scrambling back to clear the way for the Warden and the Qunari to finish the bout that had begun with four against one.

  
"Getting tired, Bull?" Blackwall goaded his opponent, forgetting the main thrust of the Qunari's battle plan - _don't waste your breath_. "Reckon you're just marking time."

  
"Well, this is gonna be short," Varric muttered, already splitting winnings to distribute among the crowd around him.

  
Even before Velen could agree, the Iron Bull was advancing, sidestepping Blackwall's lunge to knock the pommel of his war-axe against the back of the man's helmet. Hard. With his ears ringing, the Warden staggered about, only to receive Bull's heavy boot firmly in his chest. He went down heavily, and Bull's axe descended to rest against the flesh bared above the edge of his breastplate.

  
"Looks like you're dead, _human_ ," Bull rumbled conversationally.

  
Only Velen knew why Blackwall's eyes flickered toward her at the Qunari's address, and she made no attempt to hide the smirk that rose on her face in response.

  
"Aye, I'm dead," the Warden conceded in a gruff tone. "Get off."

  
Chuckling, Bull let him up, reaching down to help him to his feet with one strong arm.

  
"You fight good, all of you," he complimented his defeated opponents. "Not good enough, but good."

  
Beside Velen, Sera mimed throwing up at the blatant male posturing, much to the amusement of their company.

  
"You'd have lost if we'd had a mage," Blackwall grumped, unbuckling his helmet.

  
"Only a fool goes up against a mage without another one at his back," Bull declared expansively.

  
"Or a templar," an unidentified voice in the crowd supplied.

  
"And we have the Herald for that," the Qunari added, bowing to Velen as she laughed at the ridiculous comment.

  
At least, _she_ thought it was ridiculous. Almost immediately, there was a ripple of agreement, murmurs striking up within the gathering of watchers that perhaps that was the reason Andraste's Herald was a mage. The world was full of warriors and rogues; mages, though terrifying, were in the minority. Nothing was said about her being an elf, but one battle at a time.

  
"Even I get overwhelmed sometimes," Velen pointed out, not wanting to be made out as some indestructible super-hero.

  
"That's what you've got us for, Boss," Bull instantly responded, and his Chargers cheered in support. "We do the hard work, so you don't have to."

  
"Hard work?" Velen laughed aloud at that, rolling her eyes. "You think what I do isn't hard work?"

  
"How about you prove it, Herald?" Blackwall suggested, a glint in his eye. "Let's set you up another match, Bull. See how you fare against the mage you think doesn't work hard enough."

  
As Varric sighed behind her, Velen heard the clink of more coins, smirking in triumph at the knowledge that she had won her bet. Then she caught up with _how_ she had won her bet, dismay taking over her expression. He wanted her to fight the Iron Bull? She'd seen the Qunari shrug off spells that would put most men down for good. She wasn't volunteering for that.

  
"That i'nt a fair fight," Sera piped up. "Bull's all tired from knocking your arse, Beardy."

  
"She's got a point, Warden," Rylen agreed, leaning on his shield. "It'd be a better match to see the Herald take on a templar. Cancel each other out."

  
"You volunteering, lad?" Blackwall asked him, chuckling at the thought.

  
"I'll take that challenge."

  
Shocked surprise blasted through the crowd as eyes turned to find the owner of the voice. An owner who had insinuated himself into the rowdy gathering on his training ground without anyone noticing his presence. Velen felt her stomach drop as she met the quietly confident gaze of Commander Cullen. He was a templar - ex-templar, whatever. She'd never gone one to one against anyone with those abilities before. Cullen, however, had been trying to get her to train with his templars for the last three months, certain that she had no idea how to defend herself against an order of knights who were trained to dispel and cancel magic, trained to silence a mage who needed a voice to cast at least some of the time. She'd been trying to avoid just this thing, and now ... With so many witnesses, there was no way she could back out without losing face.

  
Drawing in a breath, and wondering how she'd ended up in this position, she nodded to the commander.

  
"I think it's time people started placing bets then."

  
Under cover of the scramble to lay bets with Varric, she found herself drawn to one side by Blackwall. The Warden looked distinctly uneasy, half-an-eye on the commander as Cullen chose a shield.

  
"He won't go easy on you," he warned her. "That man treats every exercise like a battle to the death. You won't have much chance to cast. I never meant for you to be beaten down in front of your troops, Herald."

  
Velen felt herself stiffen at yet another assumption from his lips.

  
"You really think I'll lose?" she asked sharply, her expression twisting into a scowl as she looked up at this man who had not once had the decency to answer any of her questions with anything but evasion.

  
"He's a templar, lass," Blackwall reminded her. "A good one, and a man who's seen too much battle not to know the stakes. And you're -"

  
"I'm what?" she challenged him, feeling anger pricking at her as she straightened her shoulders in defiance. "A mage? Just an elf? Or maybe it's because I'm a woman, is _that_ the problem?"

  
As Blackwall raised his hands, as though expecting her to attack him, she snarled quietly in his direction.

  
"For a man who can't answer a direct question, Warden Blackwall, you make a lot of assumptions about someone who has never been anything but honest with you," she snapped, her fingers tightening about the grip of her staff. "Step back. I might get hysterical and accidentally ignite your smalls."

  
She was a little surprised when he did just that, wondering if that was fear or respect in his eyes as he bowed and moved away. She caught a glimpse of Sera's bright grin over the departing Warden's shoulder, chuckling at the flustered look on Lysette's face. Evidently she had missed her friend collecting on her bet. There were other bets being placed, however. The sight of Varric scribbling in his ledger while Bull collected the money was enough to wipe the smile off her face. How many of those bets were in her favour, she wondered, turning to find her opponent handing his bear-fur mantle to Cassandra. The lack of it did not make his shoulders appreciably smaller, but her mind was elsewhere. How many people here believed as Blackwall did; that a Dalish mage, blessed by Andraste or not, stood no chance against the commander of the Inquisition's forces?

  
"We are the last Elvhen," she heard herself murmur, and a strange sense of peace filtered through her. Here and now, she _was_ the last Elvhen, and she had a point to make.

  
Cullen may be a strong fighter, with all the skills of a templar at his fingertips, but she was _Dalish_. Setting aside her magic, which may well be useless in the coming match, she was not helpless. The staff in her hand was not simply a focus for her spells. She wasn't to blame for people losing their money because of preconceived notions about mages made soft in their Circles.

  
"Rules should be laid down," Cassandra said over the buzz of chatter. "We cannot risk losing either the Commander or the Herald in a sparring match."

  
"Agreed." Cullen nodded as he moved to join Velen at the edge of the makeshift circle.

  
"A-agreed," she stammered in echo, wishing she didn't feel so small and breakable when standing next to him.

  
Cassandra studied them both for a brief moment, her expression stating plainly that she did not approve of either of them engaging in sparring for entertainment's sake.

  
"I will marshal," she declared. No one argued. Who better to oversee a match between a mage and a templar - ex-templar - than a Seeker of Truth? "There will be no lethal strikes. Smiting is strictly forbidden. Are these conditions acceptable to you both?"

  
Cullen offered a short nod. Velen echoed the gesture, despite her burning curiosity. What was Smiting?

  
"Take your positions."

  
At Cassandra's order, they both stepped into the circle, facing one another across ten feet of distance. Velen realised with a jolt that she didn't actually know what templars could _do_. Her Keeper had warned against drawing the attention of the templars, but she had never explained why the order was so feared by mages. And in the Hinterlands, Cassandra had gone out of her way to make sure the templars they encountered never had the option of focusing their attention on the elven mage under her care. Velen had no idea what to expect from this fight. Cullen's confident gaze wasn't helping, either.

  
Cassandra looked to both of them, raising her hands above her head. She swept them downward swiftly.

  
"Fight!"

  
Velen blinked, and suddenly Cullen was right _there_ , barely five feet away, charging with his full weight behind his shield. She yelped, skipping hurriedly out of his path, only to narrowly miss the sword that lashed out at knee height. How was he so _fast?_ She'd barely had time to form the first words of an incantation before he was on her.

  
She was only just aware of laughter from the crowd around them as she jumped awkwardly over the blade and kept running, muttering the first spell to come to mind as she went. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she released it, spinning to sweep her staff in an arc that raised a wall of fire directly in Cullen's path. He pulled up short of the flames, and she saw his lips move. The fire died, the tail end of the spell shocked back to her with a jolt that stung somewhere deep inside. Her grip on her mana wavered.

  
The deep shock must have shown on her face, for Cullen paused, a flicker of concern lighting his eyes. Had he not known that she had never fought a templar before? Of course he hadn't, she realised. Cassandra wouldn't have included that in her reports to the Inquisition leaders. It was only worth mentioning if Velen was bested in the field, as had been proved by the unnecessary hunting lessons after an unexpected bear had ground the Herald of Andraste into the dirt. Keyword - _unexpected_. She could handle herself against bears she knew were coming. Bears that leaped out of bushes at the end of a hard fight against lyrium smugglers were a different kettle of fish entirely.

  
The concern did not last, to her chagrin. She saw his lips moving again as he advanced, backing away warily. She didn't move fast enough. Just before he accelerated, Cullen made a small gesture toward her, and suddenly the breath was robbed from her lungs, the words dying on a tongue that felt thick and cloying in her mouth. Then he was on her, taking advantage of her shock this time to drive his shield into her shoulder, forcing her back until she fell. This time, it was the force of the fall that stole the breath from her lungs, rattling her brain in her skill as she came to a stop, sprawled on her back with a templar looming over her.

  
_So that's what Silencing feels like._ The thought was there and gone in a flash, her focus finding the sword that was beginning its descent. She could hear the murmurs of disappointment from the crowd, taste the blood in her mouth where her teeth had caught her tongue. The sword glinted as it swept downward ... and it was Cullen's turn to register surprise as Velen thrust her staff upward lengthwise, catching the blade easily on the banded grip between her hands. Given the way their audience reacted, he wasn't the only one who had assumed a Silenced and prone mage was a dead one.

  
She bit down on the sudden urge to laugh, permitting only a wild grin to find its place on her face. Adjusting the grip of one hand, she spun her staff hard and fast, knocking the sword almost out of Cullen's grasp. As he fumbled to keep his grip, she raised her feet, planting both firmly on his shield to give him a healthy push that sent him stumbling back from her as she scrambled upright once more.

  
"Can't say I was expecting _that_ ," she heard Varric chuckle from behind her.

  
Sera's answering cackle made her grin widen.

  
" _I_ was," the irrepressible elf declared. "Don't matter if you're noble or a slum, she fights dirty."

  
Meeting Cullen's gaze over the rim of his shield, Velen knew he'd heard that, too. He had a certain look in his eyes - the smile that never quite reached his mouth, usually when he was pleased but didn't want _everyone_ knowing. In answer, she blew him a kiss, twirling her staff high over her head as she spun toward him. It was a showy, dazzling display designed to distract from her ultimate goal. Unfortunately, Cullen was a seasoned fighter. It didn't _quite_ work the way she'd hoped. He noticed the subtle shift in her footwork, and was already moving to avoid the sweep of her staff as she dropped low, aiming to knock his feet out from under him. The end of the sturdy stave _did_ catch his right ankle, though, throwing his answering thrust off-centre. She still had to roll to avoid it, her leather coat gathering muddied snow before she found her feet again.

  
Facing him from across the ring, Velen took a moment to assess. She was breathing harder than she had expected, her tongue still thick and unwieldy in her mouth. So the Silence was still on her. No spells, but that didn't mean no magic. It just meant she was going to have to get in close to use it. Not an enticing prospect when her opponent was likely to be expecting it. He'd taken away one of her weapons; seemed only fair she should take one of his in return.

  
Setting the butt of her staff securely into the mud, she vaulted, kicking her feet out at his shield. Cullen braced, barely giving ground, and swept his sword toward her left side. He didn't seem surprised when she blocked it with the staff, landing hard against the solid barrier of metal he wielded more as a weapon than in defence. She met his eyes as her palm closed over the edge of the shield, unable to resist mouthing a silent apology as she pushed her will into the metal under her grasp. The heat was immediate, the shape of her hand left imprinted in the swiftly melting shield as the smell of scorching leather filled the air. She was vaguely aware of Cullen cursing as she spun away, as his shield heated to burning temperatures, losing its shape and form to the fire magic that coursed through it. He only just got it off his arm before the thing collapsed in a molten lump, swiftly cooling on the snowy ground.

  
Velen watched him as he shook out his free arm. The leather of his sleeve and glove were scorched but unbroken, his skin clearly uncomfortably hot but thankfully unburnt. There was a new look in his eyes as he met her gaze - a strange sense of wary respect. Had no mage ever tried to close with him like that before? Were Circle mages really so toothless? If this had been a real fight, she wouldn't have gone for his shield; her hand, and her will, would have gone for the throat. Did he realise now that she wasn't the easy mark all these trained soldiers thought she was?

  
He took a firm grip on his sword hilt with both hands, and she knew the real fight had begun. There was no way he would let her close again unless he was assured of a kill. This match had just got serious. They fell to melee, trading blows between sword and staff with the speed they had both learned over their respective lifetimes. The crowd around them lost all sense of silent awe, shouting encouragement, cheering success, commiserating with failures, even sharing winces at the blows that made contact.

  
Struggling through the Silence that still robbed her of voice and breath, Velen knew she was losing. Cullen was bigger and stronger than she was, and he did not have to fight against the urge to mouth a spell whenever the fighting eased for a moment. But if she was going down, she was taking him with her. Decision made, she threw her staff at him, spinning to close the distance before he could bring his sword up to fend her off. Her hand slipped to her back, drawing the knife from her belt, hearing the belated cries of warning as the watchers noted her plan. But their cries came too late.

  
Velen grunted with the impact as she slammed into the commander, ignoring the painful crush of his breastplate to slap the flat of her knife blade against his exposed throat. In the same instant, she felt his arms encircle her waist, his sword discarded, and the unmistakable prick of _his_ dagger through the leather of her coat, angled up with deadly accuracy into her armpit. If this had been a real fight, they would both be dead.

  
"A draw," Cassandra announced, and the Iron Bull roared beside her, drowning out his own company's cheers for a moment.

  
"Yeah! _That's_ how it's done!"

  
Pressed close to Cullen, Velen felt his laugh before she heard it, her own fast on its heels, silent huffs of exhilarated relief that she hadn't disgraced herself or him. She drew her knife away from his throat, sheathing it at her back as he released her, turning his attention to his left arm. Close to, she could see better how the leather of his sleeve was cracked and blackened; it would need mending. He saw her looking, catching the concern that flickered in her gaze.

  
"Nothing Harritt can't fix," he assured her, taking his mantle back from Cassandra as the Lady Seeker joined them.

  
"Herald," she greeted Velen, looking her over with a critical eye. "You are unharmed?"

  
Velen nodded a little helplessly, gesturing to her throat with a curious expression in her eyes. It took Cassandra only a moment to realise the problem, rolling her own eyes as she shook her head.

  
"If you could remove your Silence from the Herald, Commander ..."

  
Cullen looked up sharply. "It's still in place?"

  
The Dalish elf grimaced as she nodded, one hand passing over the twisted vines of her vallaslin in vague embarrassment.

  
"I had wondered why you were not casting," he said then, his own expression thoughtful as he concentrated for a moment.

  
At once, the cloying thickness of her tongue dissipated, the odd clenching of her voice relaxed, and Velen took in her first easy breath since almost the beginning of the match. She let out a gusty sigh, her smile bright with relief.

  
"That is _not_ a pleasant sensation," she informed them, to Cassandra's understated amusement.

  
"Perhaps now you understand my concern when you charge a templar encampment without warning," the Seeker said in a wry voice. "Though it seems I have underestimated you. Forgive me. I had assumed that, as a mage, you would know nothing of conventional fighting."

  
"I was always encouraged to fight with my staff," Velen explained to her. "There will always be fights where magic has no place."

  
"You've never fought a templar before today?" Cullen interjected, a frown on his handsome face.

  
Velen shook her head. "Not directly, no," she told him, glancing tellingly toward Cassandra before indulging her curiosity. "What was that you did? Was that a Silence?"

  
"A minor one, yes." Cullen considered her for a moment. "I had expected you to throw it off. Others would not hesitate to use a full Silence on you, and those are far harder to counter."

  
"How do I throw it off?" she asked eagerly, intrigued by the thought that he had something useful to teach her that she didn't consider utterly pointless for once.

  
"It takes focus and concentration," he warned her. "It isn't something that can be learned and achieved in a single day."

  
"And there are other templar skills she should learn to counter," Cassandra added. "You should train with the commander. He is best suited to gauge your progress, and how best to shape your training."

  
Velen sighed wearily. "More training?"

  
To her surprise, Cullen laughed. Briefly, yes, but it was _definitely_ a laugh.

  
"We can forego the martial training in favour of this," he assured her. "It all comes under the same banner. I'd like to learn more of contact magic, though. I've never encountered a mage prepared to try it. In my experience, a cornered mage turns to demons and blood magic rather than their own first touch of magic."

  
"It isn't something that's encouraged," she told him with a half-shrug. "Our armour is so light, closing with a warrior is tantamount to suicide."

  
"But useful, if only as a last resort," he nodded. "Our own recruits would do well to learn that even a Silenced mage can still be dangerous."

  
"I'd say they just learned that, Curly."

  
The three of them turned at the sound of Varric's voice. The dwarf was grinning, the pouch on his belt hanging heavier than it had before the match.

  
"Amazing how many people you just made poorer," he chuckled. "Every bet was on one or the other of you winning. They're gonna want a rematch."

  
"Absolutely not," Cassandra said sternly, her gesture emphatic. "There is too much risk of serious injury to both, even untrained."

  
Velen's gaze slid to the Seeker. Evidently her use of contact magic had not only surprised Cullen. Cassandra seemed rattled, and _she_ had only been a witness.

  
"You should rest," the Nevarran woman added. "We leave for Redcliffe in the morning."

  
Cullen's expression abruptly closed down. Velen sighed; why did he not understand this? She refused to reach out to an order whose Lord-Commander had allowed an assault on an unarmed Chantry mother without provocation. Even she had been shocked to see it. It was like watching a senior hunter punch a Keeper - utterly unthinkable. Even if Tevinter were not somehow involved with the rebel mages, they would still be her choice, solely on that evidence. If he didn't like it, then why were they leaving these decisions up to her in the first place?

  
The commander walked away without another word. She stared after him, feeling torn. His was a friendship she was beginning to treasure, her first real friendship with a human. But this was the only decision she felt she could have made.

  
"He'll come around, Thumper."

  
She looked down at Varric, her brows raised. "Thumper?"

  
He grinned. "Great, isn't it? Finally found one that fits you."

  
"But ... Thumper?"

  
He was already sauntering off, leaving her to meet Cassandra's gaze. The Lady Seeker gave her an exasperated eye roll, shaking her head as she, too, walked away, leaving Velen to her own thoughts.

  
So. New skills to learn, a friend's prejudice to overcome, a Tevinter magister to outwit. All very important, very necessary goals. But seriously ... _Thumper?_

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the gap in posting - this one was surprisingly difficult to write! I'm not at home with action, so why I decided to write a one-on-one fight is anyone's guess. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Slap me with kudos, or just slap me in comments - go on, I don't bite!
> 
> The title is again in Dalish - Alhasha meaning wild, as far as I can tell, thanks to FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.
> 
> All the good stuff belongs to Bioware, I'm just playing with it.


End file.
